


Uncommon Goods

by heidiamalia



Series: Moments in the After [6]
Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Drinking, F/M, Maybe - Freeform, Minor Foggy Nelson/Marci Stahl, also i kind of love marci - no big deal, because this is set on christmas eve, it's their first kiss type of scenario, post tps1, where i assume it ended mid-december
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 23:48:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16943028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heidiamalia/pseuds/heidiamalia
Summary: “Where you been, Frankie boy?”His arms go up in surrender, chin jutting out with disbelief. He catches Karen’s humored stare. Marci smirks a bit too, looking around for a moment, the clientele of the bar unimpressed with the reveal. He says simply, almost proudly, “Queens.”“Boo,” hollers the old man on the stool 4 seats over.-Marci can't believe anyone would willingly come to Josie's.





	Uncommon Goods

**Author's Note:**

> So with this one I think the series is done - the idea for multiple pov scenes came out of nowhere but it worked enough in my head.

It's Christmas Eve.

 

The bar is decorated for the holiday with limp red and green streamers lining the back wall. Twinkle lights are half-tangled along the underside of the bar, illuminating heavy winter coats and purses. Someone managed to duct tape mistletoe above the door to the stockroom. Her stool is making that sticky sucking sound when she tries to get comfortable.

 

Foggy looks over at her from his glass of whatever he's ordered, “Christmas at Josie's.” His eyes are sad, and she gets that, she does. This was _their_ thing - _Nelson and Murdock_ \- the drinks together before late mornings and the way better food at a decorated Nelson family table that didn't cling to your shirt. Marci grasps the martini glass in front of her and smiles gently in his direction.

 

“Karen said she was coming, right?”

 

“Uh,” Foggy hesitates. Looks around and then back at her quick. He leans forward, hunching himself over his drink to find two new glasses, twinning them in his fingers to clatter on the bar. He's avoiding her eyes when the door opens. “Yeah, she said that.”

 

It's a cold blow across her ankles and her heels adjust on the metal of her chair. She takes a sip of her drink when Karen appears, cheeks bright with an icy red flush, her black cargo coat too large for her body. There was a hat, at some point on her head, evidenced by untidy strands lifted away from her face. “Hey!” she greets them. “Sorry I'm late, we drove over, someone did a shitty plow job of the parking lot.”

 

Foggy lifts his arm for a hug, his hello a muffled sound in her ear when they meet. It does _not_ slip past her, though. _We._

 

Karen is turning to face her, wary written all over her face. “I forgot to tell you,” her voice is apologetic, an explanation coming, her eyes staring. “I told him where we were going to be and he wanted to come.” The door opens again and whoever walks in stomps their boots hard and firm to get the snow off. Marci instinctively tilts her head to the side to see. “His name is _Pete._ ”

 

The Punisher has got some seriously nice stubble.

 

It's him under the hood, that's for sure. All the photos from the newspaper and when he was resurrected on the news stations recently don't give his jawline justice. Her arm shoots out to the side to grab at her drink, Foggy, the bar, _anything_. It lands in place with a thump on his shoulder. Marci's gaze flickers to Foggy, who is looking at him too, a wince on his mouth. His hand not holding his drink covers his brow like he's got a headache just by staring.

 

Frank Castle - the mass murderer and escaped felon, the falsely accused terrorist, the hunk in a thick fleece-lined hoodie - looks around the bar with a lip turned up in nearly childlike wonder. He does the once over before settling on their little group, yanking the hood back.

 

Whatever Karen is trying to pull with this _Pete_ line is useless. “You _know_ that I know it's not,” she tells her with a whisper.

 

She's giving her a pleading look before he saddles up beside her. Foggy is already pouring into the new glasses and shaking his head. “I forgot to tell her,” it's loud in the bar but Marci can hear Frank chuckle when Foggy admits this. He tells her _hey,_ reiterates the name, and she sees it's for show. Karen slides the best she can into the seat next to Foggy, tugging the buttons on her coat loose and unzipping.

 

Frank is leaning his left elbow on the bar, his body turned towards the three of them. He's got a knee touching Karen's, and a boot up on the metal of the empty stool he could claim. It makes a screeching wet sound that attracts Josie from the opposite side, pouring beers from the tap. “Hey,” she shouts at him. It's an irritated but affectionate tone, one Marci is familiar with when she comes here with Foggy.

 

“Josie, sweetheart,” Frank says gently, probably trying to be inconspicuous. He stands a bit straighter, and he's _smiling,_ turning his body again to allow his chest to touch the wood to face her. Marci tilts her head at Karen, who has started sipping on the caramel colored liquid in the glass Foggy gave her. Their eyes meet. Karen shrugs. Josie is already sliding the glass of beer towards him. “It’s good to see you.”

 

He catches it. Lifts it in thanks, takes a sip. She smacks a stained gray bar rag over her shoulder. “Where you been, Frankie boy?”

 

His arms go up in surrender, chin jutting out with disbelief. He catches Karen’s humored stare. Marci smirks a bit too, looking around for a moment, the clientele of the bar unimpressed with the reveal. He says simply, almost proudly, “Queens.”

 

 _“Boo,”_ hollers the old man on the stool 4 seats over.

 

Foggy tosses his head in a laugh so hard he presses his hand over his heart and arches his back. Marci has to remove his whiskey glass from his grasp before he spills. She can't help herself and touches his arm, warm to the thought that it's caught him off guard.

 

Karen watches Frank as she finally removes her coat, probably waiting for a story. Marci finishes her martini and picks up the secondary glass originally meant for Frank, grimacing at the taste. Josie nabs the empty and walks back to the sink on the other end.

 

He's returned to leaning his body towards them, his right hand resting on the back of Karen's chair. Marci spots his thumb stroking the same spot on her shoulderblade, the lean of her into his hand. “I uh… I barbacked at this place for a couple summers before graduating high school, to stay out of trouble,” he says. “Before I enlisted.”

 

“That's not legal,” Marci says matter-of-factly, pointing with her drink, but he shrugs. Josie's bar, her rules, _I guess._

 

-

 

It's later.

 

Karen has just stepped away to hold their place for next play at the pool table, and Frank finally removed his hoodie, walking to the men's room. Marci took this moment to stare at Foggy, accusatory tilt of her head and all.

 

“He saved her life,” he exclaimed under the pressure, turning his face to her. “I know what he is, what he's done, but I gotta be grateful for that, yah know? And if that means he cares, that he does that… that _thing_ my dad does, then so be it.”

 

“What, the touchy touch thing he was doing?”

 

Foggy rears back his head with a quizzical look, eyes lowered. “What? No, the whole,” his hands are waving a little now, “the whole cover-the-windows thing.” His thumb points behind him, like it was easy to spot. “Keeps her from view. Some… gentleman, military, bodyguard thing.”

 

Marci only recognizes now that Foggy sits beside her, _also_ covering her view from the frosty windows. His eyes are a bit glassy but he smiles with his teeth. Her hand rests on his knee, and she has a sudden urge to kiss him. So she does.

 

“Wait, wait,” he mumbles against her mouth, shaking his head. His hand tried to steady itself on her arm. “What, what's the touchy thing?”

 

-

 

“She's not drunk, okay, I can tell. We drank the _eel_ together - that bonds us forever.” Foggy's tone seems final.

 

“Okay,” she considers. “But _you_ are,” Marci confirms, still staring across the room.

 

She caught the two of them standing close a little while ago, after ditching the wait for the pool table. Marci poured for a shot. Karen came back for quarters in her purse to play pinball, giggly, and Frank silently followed after Josie gave him another unnamed concoction in a low glass of her choice.  

 

Karen plays two games before Frank's words have her stepping into his space where the edge of the machine meets the wall. His back is leaning against the side, legs apart. She's pointing at the board, tapping the Plexiglas protecting the score list. _FCC_ is listed in bold at the top, flashing a number Marci can't read from where she sits. She's laughing, head thrown back when he supplies a response.

 

His whole face changes, Marci observes, when she relaxes - cheeks red - mouth still moving to tell him something. The tilt of his head, the way his stubbled chin drops when he licks his bottom lip. Karen rests her right hand on his shoulder, and brushes it a few times. He reaches for her hair, pulling slowly at some of the strands still hanging away from their place, settling them with the palm of his hand. His eyes are squinting and his lip turns up in a soft smile when he chuckles. Karen doesn't look like she notices. _Oh my god._

 

“Foggybear.”

 

He's nursing his newest pour, this time a gold tequila. And he's _not_ listening to her, trying to complete his tangent on the filing system at the office.

 

Frank manages to get his hand beneath Karen's hair, fingers deep on her neck and his thumb is tracing her jaw. Marci catches the repeated motion before seeing Karen’s eyes flutter, her forehead leaning to touch his. _“Foggy,”_ she grits out, reaching out to grasp at him. Her nails plant deep grooves into his forearm before he yelps. “Foggy, _he's gonna kiss her_.”

 

Karen tightens her grip on his dark gray Henley and he gets a hold of her hip to steady her against his chest before -

 

“Ow!” Foggy barks. Marci is smacking his arm as her jaw drops, a choking sound at the back of her throat. “ _Hey_ , quit it.” He tugs on her hand to hold it to his chest, keeping her still.

 

Karen's hand moves from his shoulder to his cheek as he kisses her, languid in movement as her nails rake across his stubbled jaw. Her fingers wrap around the back of his neck to hold him closer, and his fingers on her side rub in circles before he settles them on her spine.

 

Foggy finally catches on.

 

“Ay, Frankie!” the bar fly shouts from his spot behind them. “Give her a little kiss for me!”

 

They break apart, but they don't separate from each others hold - their foreheads touch again and Frank’s face is switching from content to snarling, while Karen keeps a small smile on her lips, mouth moving to say something.

 

Josie takes away the fly's stein, shaking her head with a grimace.

 

“I think I want fries,” Marci says suddenly, quietly. Her stomach is swimming with liquor and she's avoiding the fact that she could not stop watching them. She puts her drink on the bar, done for the night. There was no way she was eating anything from Josie's when she wants to wake up for Christmas.

 

Frank stands up straight and steps from the machine, guiding her away from stares as they walk back towards their stools. When they come close they agree on the same idea to leave for food.

 

“There's a Burger King down the street,” Karen offers her, calm and ready to go too, like she didn't just have her tongue down the Punisher’s throat in front of an entire bar of degenerates.

 

“Ooh onion rings,” Foggy mutters. “ _Ooh_ I love you.”

**Author's Note:**

> hi i'm on tumblr.


End file.
